


crawl home to her

by ElknCatus



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Bad Parenting, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Gore, Christianity, F/F, Ghosts, Horror, I think that's it - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Memory Loss, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Abuse, Religious Cults, Road Trips, Southern Gothic, if you can find something else free to ask me to tag it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElknCatus/pseuds/ElknCatus
Summary: Adora can't remember her childhood. She goes to her childhood home and figures out what exactly happened to her.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	crawl home to her

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [tumblr prompts! (tags added w/updates)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29762556) by [hopelessgemini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessgemini/pseuds/hopelessgemini). 



> I wrote this for the "Write this in your style challenge" and I had a good time. Please heed the warnings at the beginnings!

This is a ghost story, as much as it is a story about the house, or Adora, or Catra. This is a ghost story. 

Adora turns the key and starts the car. The wind whistled through the open window of the car as she wound down the highways to the little town of Frayeur, Missouri. 

Glimmer would call her as soon as she saw the note she tacked to her bedroom door.  _ She’ll be okay. I’ll be back by tomorrow morning.  _ She felt the memory bubble to the surface of before, of home with Light Hope in Frayeur. The big house from old money and the even bigger secrets that were held in those walls. She owned the house. She had ever since she had turned 18.  _ I guess it has been empty for a long time.  _

Adora moved in with Angella when she was 15, and the gaping hole in her life had opened up. She ran a restaurant in Saint Louis and was known for being kind to the homeless around the area. She was more than kind when she let her move into their little home on the edge of the suburbs. Glimmer was her best friend and Angella’s daughter, and they had one more summer before they both went to college.  _ Once I finish this, everything can be alright.  _

Bow was Glimmer’s boyfriend and Adora’s best friend, the kindest person outside of Angella’s family she knew. They had taught each other Spanish for their high school classes, and he explained every math concept she hadn’t picked up during her childhood. 

Adora put her foot on the pedal as she tried to put the finger on what school she had gone to. Carter Elementary sounded right; it was the name when she googled the town.  _ How does Bow do it? I mean, how do most people do it? How do you remember everything? If I don’t remember, I don’t need it, I guess.  _ Most people did remember their friends or even why they became friends in the first place. Maybe Adora wasn’t most people. Perhaps she was trying to be. 

She remembered Light Hope’s face- or maybe her outline and the strange language she spoke. The white dresses and dark oak pews and the open windows so the air would float through and provide relief from any of the last heat. The hum of fans like locusts and the humidity making her wrath worse. The last of the midwest with any hills. Going to school in little classrooms with kids who were greedy for entirely different reasons.  _ I can speak it if I try hard enough- I think. At least a little.  _

_ Catra…  _ Catra’s mother’s name was Shadow Weaver. She was a mean, cruel woman with illnesses that made her angry, and Catra had to take care of her. She remembered burying Shadow Weaver after Catra went up in smoke. Adora turned onto the back roads, off the interstate. The radio was cranked up as loud as she could get it, blaring old country songs that Adora only could pick out the chorus or the first lines. 

The parts she could remember were almost idyllic, the days in a cold classroom with other children, spring days practicing Easter plays, summer days at the pool, and fall days picking out pumpkins. But, there were details there, twisted and deeply terrifying.  _ What about the rabbit? I haven’t thought about the rabbit in ages.  _

There was this rabbit that Adora had when she was little, in a hutch in the big backyard behind the clotheslines and the trash cans. The thing had big red eyes and white fur, and Adora had taken care of it near. Light Hope had refused first, but Adora was stubborn and begged and begged. She let her get it but warned her about the howling coyotes and the vicious bobcats in the swamps of Frayeur. 

They had come home from church one day, the afternoon sun burning hot when Adora bounced down the back steps. The gate was open, and blood splattered the backyard. White fur was scattered over the hutch. Its head was twisted all the way around like someone had wrung its neck, but the rib cage, crawling in flies, exposed, stripped bare, had proved that this was no human. Adora wailed. Light Hope lectured her. The latch was unlocked, and the coyote had noticed. 

That was what she remembered, the little things. 

Adora was turning down a winding road. She supposed she remembered the vague memory of putting Light Hope in the ground.  _ Not little, just old _ . She remembered her childhood most before Light Hope’s death, but she only remembered spending her last 20 dollars on a greyhound bus into Saint Louis past that. 

She took a drink of the coke she bought at the last gas station she drove past on the interstate a couple exits ago. Adora knew that she was close, from the mile markers and the countryside getting worse. Every couple miles was another dilapidated town with a similar name that had similar people. Or maybe a completely different set of people with new problems. If she was smart, she would never have to know.

She turned left into the sign of Frayeur, “A Good Place To Call Home, founded by John Hordak, 1815,” with a painting of some man standing over a river.  _ Hordak was a weird last name, but I guess it was strange enough to be here. _ Adora slowed down, watching the kids on the street playing and the adults watching her. The faintest feeling of sadness drifted into her, remembering the people’s faces but never their names. 

Adora turned off the car as she pulled into the house, a big plantation-style mansion on the top of the hill. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and saw Glimmer and Bow’s messages. She sent back that she got there safe and would be back tomorrow. The note written on the will was that the key was behind the cat figurine on the porch. The code on the padlock was 11-13-18. Adora clicked open the box and clicked open the door. 

Dust blew up in her face, sending her into a coughing fit. Adora looked around at the pictures of her, but that she didn’t recognize. White dresses and ponytails, cross necklaces, and holding hands with girls she couldn’t remember. Light Hope’s family, what she could imagine, was her grandparents- none of it to remember anything at all. 

Grief filled her, for something she couldn’t remember.  _ Is it Light Hope? Her death? No- no, it can’t be that.  _ That felt grief- it felt old- something felt so fresh that tears were welling in her eyes. 

Something fell over in another part of the house. Adora jumped, looking back at the wall. The wallpaper was peeling, yellowed around the edge. Her mouth went dry before she pushed open the door to the kitchen. 

The back window was open, letting in the light of the outside. It was so hot, the tank-top Adora had worn was completely soaked with sweat. A vase had fallen over, falling through the rotting shelf. This place must have been abandoned for years, ever since she was young. The stove was gas, while the sink was wide and deep. It was covered in dirt, and mouse feces like the whole house was.  _ It stinks in here.  _

“Adora-” a voice rattled out of the farthest door from the sink. It was cracked, and she could see stairs leading down the door. 

“Who’s there?”

The silence was ringing in her ears like bell tolls.  _ I must be hearing things- that’s all _ .

Adora crept back through the door, where the backdoor was similarly locked. She needed to go upstairs to her old room, rummage through the pictures and photo albums, maybe even try to find her birth certificate, at least her original one. But it was too much, too warm in this damned house to do anything.  _ I should have brought Glimmer and Bow.  _ She clicked the lock open and threw the door open. The wind rustled through the dogwood trees, overgrown and gnarled oaks. The grass was up to her knees, and she didn’t feel too safe going out farther than the stoop. 

“Don’t go too close to the water, now. Them copperheads love this kind of weather!” A voice called out from behind her. Adora stood up straight, turning around to run back into the house. No one was there now, and the door was still untouched. _The neighbors must be loud, that’s all._

“If there is anybody in here, I won’t be mad,” Adora called into the house again, not expecting a response. If someone was squatting here, she would happily give the place to them after she could get the things she came here for.  _ It isn’t worth anything to sell.  _

“Somebody lost her accent to those suburban folks, hasn’t she?” The voice called, teasing and taunting. Adora stiffened and looked around.  _ Maybe they have answers.  _ Tears welled up in her eyes for a girl that she hurt.  _ If I can’t remember her, why do I know how bad I hurt her? Or she hurt me? _

“Please, just come out. I promise I won’t be mad. I just want someone to tell me what happened!” Adora called out. Fear was coursing through her, and she went for her phone. Every Missouri town had at least one cop- she knew that much. 

“You want to know what happened?” The voice, less cruel this time, more a question than anything else, asked, “I don’t know if I can help you then. I reckon what they did to you made remembering a lot harder.” 

“Who?” Adora called back, “Did what?” Her feet felt stuck to the ground, thrashing around to see who was speaking. The voice felt like it was coming from behind her, but no one was close to her. 

“Go upstairs, find your room. Your diary,” the voice told Adora. And Adora trusted the voice. She trusted the voice wholly, like the dog you know won’t bite no matter what you do. Adora felt her hand touch the cool wood banister, and her feet start to carry her up the stairs. 

The buzzing of bugs filled her ears as she mounted the stairs, feeling the sick feeling of dread fill her with that lazy malaise, coming slow and staying for as long as it can hold on. Deep in her stomach, Adora knew that this was going to be painful. Bloody and tragic.  _ The kind of stuff that sells memoirs.  _ She came to the first room to the left- a bed stripped of everything but the mattress, covered in stains of dirt and disuse. 

A closed window was letting in the light, even if the sun was much too hot to bear. Adora rifled through the drawers, wardrobes, and end tables that looked ancient and handmade. It was in her empty closet, on the top shelf. It looked brand-new, brown leather with her name, Adora Hope, imprinted onto the cover. A cloth bookmark, beautiful red, was sitting on the edge. She flipped it over and started to read. 

_ June 18th,  _

_ Light Hope is sick again. She won’t get up out of bed except for church. The people have been coming around again and I don’t like them. Catra says that they’ll leave soon, once Light Hope can walk again. I believe her.  _

_ June 25th,  _

_ Shadow Weaver is sitting under the magnolia with Light Hope. They’re reading something- it looks like a medical textbook. I knew Light Hope was a nurse before she came here, to Frayer, but she says she didn’t like it. I asked her why I call her Light Hope instead of “mom” or something. She told me to go play with Scorpia and Catra.  _

_ June 27th,  _

_ Their bible study group came around again. I’m not a fan of any of them, but Catra says that they’ll leave soon. Light Hope told me my allowance won’t be much this week. She didn’t tell me why.  _

_ July 4th,  _

_ Catra is acting weird. Shadow Weaver is doing something downstairs in the cellar, but I’m not allowed to go out there. I’m seeing the fireworks tonight.  _

_ July 16th,  _

_ Light Hope told me that I can go down with her group to the cellar later this week. Sunday I think she said. I can’t remember much from this past week- only that I touched the door and she yelled at me. I think that was before going to see fireworks? Catra told me I had been sick, but I don’t remember.  _

_ July 17th, _

_ I wasn’t sick. I’m not sure what I was, but I left the house all week, according to the neighbors.  _

_ July 18th,  _

_ It’s Saturday, and I know for a fact that Light Hope is dangerous. I asked her about it, and she grabbed me. She was yelling that I had done something wrong. She said, “don’t tell anybody what you saw, or I’ll leave you down in the cellar for a week.” Catra looks worried.  _

_ July 19th,  _

_ Light Hope died today. I was there, but I don’t remember how. She was sick for so long. Bedbound is what the doctors told me. I’m sad.  _

The book ended there, nothing but a few more notes scribbled down. It’s made the situation more blurry, harder to understand. The book, her own writing, made no sense!  _ The gaps in time- the- damnit! _

“For fuck’s sake! Who is Catra?” Adora screamed, throwing the book on the ground. Dust went everywhere, and Adora stamped out of the room. 

“They did that bad a number on you, sweetheart?” A voice called out from behind her. Adora whipped around, and this time the voice had a source. A girl with warm brown skin and big hair, and sunglasses, oversized round sunglasses with two different colored lenses, yellow and blue. She had a strong face, even on a girl that was so young. 

“Who are you?” Adora asked the girl that looked so young how old her voice was. The girl cocked her head, scrunched up her nose, and turned and ran. Adora ran out after her, following her down the stairs and into the kitchen. The girl shook her head and ran out of the house. 

“She’s a memory, not real,” the voice said with warmth, “but she’s all I can show you right now. There is so much here, I don’t think I can show you all of it.” 

“Then show me what you can,” Adora responded, feeling daring. Tears stained her cheeks, and she felt nearly sick. That dread was still there. Still sitting in her stomach like wet tar. 

“Go down to the cellar; you’ll remember what you can,” the voice explained, final and straightforward. The sun was going down, which would make the whole house too dark to see. Adora pushed open the door and flicked on her phone’s flashlight. Cobwebs were covering the stairwell, dotting the room. A decrypt water heater and washer and dryer were on the farthest wall, barely in view. The voice was hardly able to be heard now, but the memories kept pushing her forward. 

It was becoming more transparent now, the faces of the people who came around and their names. That strange titling voice and the unknown songs they sang- grotesque and twisted vowels and too long consonants. Her mother’s face, long and flat, blue dresses and scarves were becoming more pronounced in her mind. And Shadow Weaver’s vicious yelling, and Catra, her Catra. Their year together in Shadow Weaver’s care, and everything. 

There was a cabinet in the back of the room, stacked with old sheets folded. Red stains that looked like rust or blood bleached out from the sheets. Bottles labeled with long warnings, chloroform and drugs, and everything else. 

_ I had opened the door. I saw the girl, tied up in the bonds, screaming for someone to help her. Light Hope grabbed me and yelled at me, then the chloroform knocked me out. It must be why I can’t remember anything.  _

Stacks of bibles and pamphlets preaching the good name of..., not Jesus... not any name Adora could make sense of. Bloody rituals and incantations scrawled in a shaky hand. Disturbed girls being slaughtered.  _ No- no- oh my god.  _

The blood, the shaking girls screaming in the middle of the circle, begging and pleading. Adora was the golden child- the perfect out of all the children. Every adult in this town knew about something happening with their family, but no one did anything. Adora’s face was covered in tears as she continued to walk towards the back wall. A heap was lying against the wall, wrapped in a sheet. 

“I don’t want to know,” Adora whispered, “no-no, it’s not possible-” She felt her body crumple as she started to lift the tarp. 

There Catra was, her body in a white dress stained red. Her face was a horrible purple shade, and the glasses were perched on top of her head. Her hair, matted with blood, and her arms, laying at her side- it was all so ugly. A single dagger was still in her chest with a horrified look on her face. 

“No, no, this happened- this happened 3 years ago- how is she still here?” Adora nearly screamed, her chest heaving with deep sobbing breaths. Maybe, this was divine, perhaps this was demonic, trying to find the secrets of death and life,  _ god, please God, don’t tell me I did this.  _ Her hand shot out, trying to feel her face to confirm everything. But, her hand touched the wall, disappearing the hallucination. 

Then, that tilting voice was in her ear. A shadow covered her face, her back flat on the dusty ground. 

“Hey Adora,” Catra called from above her. She sat down next to her, “I never thought I would see you again.” That pleasant tilting drawl, sharp and lovely. 

“You’re here,” Adora responded, scrambling up to stand up in front of her. Her phone was long forgotten on the phone, and there was only enough light to see her face. Her hands were cupping her face, perfect and unbowed. Smiling, clean, in a t-shirt and jeans, with her glasses and her frizzy hair. 

Adora kissed her. Catra leaned back into her touch, 

“Adora, I want you to know everything. But first, I love you,” Catra laughed as she spoke, happy and comfortable. 

“I know, I know, I know,” Adora whispered. 

“Tell me what you remember, sweetheart,” Catra sat down on the stairs, the sparkle in her eyes with a concerned expression on her face. 

Adora told her what she did remember, what was still fuzzy, the murders, how her memory was suppressed with pills and drugs, the cult, all of it. Catra cut in twice to clarify and to explain. The grief, it was leaking out of her and replaced with something new. Maybe still suffering, but now- it had matured into bittersweet longing, for before and for what they never would get. 

“I love you, Catra,” Adora smiled, tears welling up in her eyes, “I wish I could have saved you."

"Go save the rest of the girls in this town, and we'll call it even. There is enough evidence that we can get to bring down every person in the town on murder," Catra nodded, determined. She stood and grabbed Adora's hand. 

They ran upstairs, finding a box of papers and records of money moving and bloody sheets and everything. Catra had parsed everything out, the plans of what they did and how- and Adora wrote it all down. 

They were going to burn it all down and release all the ghosts. 


End file.
